Double Identity
by DavidPresents
Summary: Someone dressed just like her has tied up Francine Smith and is taking her place in the home! Will Stan rescue his damsel in distress? Rated for light bondage.


It was unusually quiet in the Smith house.

The son, Steve Smith, was away on a camping trip with friends from high school. The trip was going unexpectedly well for Steve. He'd just texted his parents that he'd met the perfect girl, Jaydee.

The father, Stan Smith, was at his job at the CIA, hot on the trail of domestic terrorist, Mike Jones.

Jeff Fischer, the son-in-law, was wandering about Langley Falls, trying to remember where he lived.

Roger, the alien who lived in their attic, was currently not at home. For people unfamiliar with Roger, we'll explain quickly that he was a gray extraterrestrial, who mingled with the human population by wearing a variety of disguises and adopting personas to go with them. These were so effective they fooled almost everyone, occasionally even members of the Smith household. Roger would then get up to all kinds of mischief; however, we'll check on him later.

Klaus, their goldfish, was trying to speak, but someone had placed a copy of Staunton's Complete Illustrated Shakespeare on top of his bowl. The heavy book made it impossible for him to move his bowl or make himself heard.

That left the mother, Francine Smith, and the daughter, Hayley Smith-Fischer, who were both bound and gagged on the couch.

They lay on their stomachs facing one another. Their knees were bent, with rope running from their bound ankles to their wrists, tied behind their backs. Their mouths were filled with cloth, with bandanas running over their lips, the ends tied around the back of their necks. No matter how loudly they tried, they could only make faint mewing sounds.

They wiggled around, but, positioned as they were, they could not reach they knots binding them. They were going to remain hogtied until help arrived.

"Hi, babe, I'm home!" Jeff called out. "Funniest thing happened. Remember this morning when your dad told me to get lost? Well, um, hey, where's the TV?"

A couple incomprehensible pleas for help answered him.

Jeff shrugged his shoulders and walked to the kitchen. He opened the pantry door to hang up his jacket. Realizing his mistake, he returned to the living room and placed it in the hall closet. He turned around and finally noticed Francine and Hayley.

"Woah, why are you tied up?" Jeff asked. "Were we robbed or something?"

Hayley grunted into her gag, attempting to say, "Yes, Jeff, hurry up and untie us and I'll explain."

Jeff untied the knots pretty easily. "Well, aren't you my brave rescuer," Francine said, rubbing her wrists.

"You know I'd always rescue you, Missus S," Jeff said. "You okay?"

"Mpfff!" Hayley screamed.

"Yes, I'm fine, but don't you think you should untie your wife?"

Hayley exploded once the gag came off. "What's the big idea of untying my mom before me?"

"Now, Hayley, you know Jeff was just concerned about me," Francine said.

"Yeah, babe, I thought you could handle being tied up better, so I untied Missus S first," Jeff explained.

Hayley grabbed a fistful of Jeff's shirt. "We're continuing this up in our bedroom."

"Whoa, babe, ready to reward me for rescuing you?" Jeff asked.

"No, we're going to have a discussion about our relationship."

"Oh, boy, that can't be good," Jeff said, who'd heard those words before.

"Jeff, I know you've always had a bit of a crush on my mother…"

"No, babe, you're totally off base there!"

"…and I didn't worry too much about at first, but things are starting to get into Jerry Springer territory here."

"Missus S has always been super nice to me, but I just view her as a mom, since I never knew my own mom. I swear, babe, that's all that's happening."

Hayley didn't say anything out loud, but inside she thought, "Something's going on between them, and I'm going to find out what."

…..

Several days staggered by.

The insurance company replaced the stolen items in the Smith house.

Stan continued his hunt for the elusive domestic terrorist, Mike Jones.

Francine dusted the living room, accidentally knocking the Shakespeare book off Klaus's bowl. "It's about time," the goldfish gasped. "Francine, we need to discuss this cheap fish food you glub."

Francine replaced the book over his bowl.

Steve texted home. A serial killer with long fingernails and a hockey mask was terrorizing the campsite. Jaydee was missing….

Hayley made an appointment with her hairdresser. She came back wearing a headscarf which hid every strand of her hair.

"Babe, what's that for?" Jeff asked.

"You'll find out tomorrow," his wife told him.

…..

"No time for breakfast, Francine," Stan said, grabbing a cup of coffee. He kissed the air and headed for the front door. "Got a hot lead on domestic terrorist Mike Jones. The CIA'll nab him for sure!"

"But isn't it the FBI's job to hunt domestic terrorists, not the CIA's?"

Stan spat out a mouthful of coffee. The question was so unlike anything Francine would ask that he stared at her in wonder. It was almost as if an imposter had taken her place. Could this be a plot by Mike Jones to infiltrate his house, kidnapping his wife and replacing her with a spy? Stan did tell Francine a lot more about his CIA work than he was supposed to. It would be the perfect way to discover what he knew.

No, that's silly, he told himself. There stands my Francine, cooking eggs and sausages on the stove. His same old Francine, with fluffy blonde hair, full lips, her usual pink dress with a white border, a flowery apron, and high-heeled pink pumps.

If it weren't for the microwave on the counter, it could have been a scene straight out of the 1950's.

If Stan had looked closer at the pink pumps, he would have noticed they had much higher heels than the ones Francine normally wore. Almost as if someone shorter than Francine were trying to make up for the height difference.

However, Stan wasn't really a foot person, so he overlooked that clue.

"Hahaha, good joke, Francine," he said, heading out the door.

"Whew, that was close," Hayley said. It had cost enough to get her hair dyed and styled. She didn't need to ruin it now by acting suspiciously. "Gotta talk just like mom."

She opened the pantry door and looked down at her mother.

"Mpfff!" Francine protested. She was coiled in ropes, and gagged with a bandana.

Hayley took a can of beans and shut the door again.

"Good morning, Missus S," Jeff greeted her. "Seen Hayley around?"

"Good morning, sweetie. Don't you remember? She told you she was going to a protest all day."

"How do you know she told me that?"

Hayley placed a plate in front of Jeff. "Ready for breakfast?"

"Blech!" Jeff spat out a mouthful. "Are these tofu sausages?"

"Well, of course, sweetie. You remember that conversation I had with m… your wife? I promised I'd respect Hayley's wishes and only serve you vegan food."

Jeff blinked in confusion. "Yeah, that's what you said, but you kept right on serving me real sausages, real eggs, real everything."

"Well, not any longer, because it's very important that mothers and daughters are always honest with each other!"

"Calm down, Missus S, you don't have to shout."

Hayley glared at the cupboard door.

"So, seeing that Hayley won't be back for a while, are you ready for some fun?" Jeff asked.

"Well, sweetie, what did you have in mind?"

"Oh, you know, the usual." Jeff paused. "Do you hear something?"

"No," Hayley said shortly. "So, which of those things we always do together do you want to do today?"

"If you're up for it, I thought maybe…. There's that noise again, like someone rustling around."

"It's probably a mouse," Hayley said. "I'll get d… Stan to put out some traps."

"That gives me an idea," said Jeff. "How about a game of Mousetrap?"

"What, seriously?"

"Sure, that's my favorite game, you know that. The way that little ball rolls around and the cage falls down, that's so cool!"

"So, this is what you get up to with my m… with me every day?"

"Sure, you're a great mom. So, how about a game, after you get me some milk and cookies?"

"Get your own milk and cookies," Hayley said. "I need a breath of fresh air."

She strode outside. "It's okay," she told herself. "You knew Jeff was a big kid when you married him. I'll go back and explain things. Mom shouldn't be too mad. I hope. Yes, everything will be fine."

A van pulled up and a door opened. "That's her, that's Francine Smith, wife of that meddling CIA suit. Grab her!"

"Eek!" Hayley screamed as a hand clamped over her mouth. She was dragged inside and the van roared away.

…..

"Yes, Mrs. Smith, you have fallen into the hands of none other than notorious domestic terrorist, Mike Jones!" And the way he said it made it sound even campier and hammier.

The minions in the van weren't the tough guys you'd imagine. They all looked scrawny and uninspired, bearing remarkable likenesses to Hayley's husband, Jeff. Mike Jones didn't fit any image of a terrorist, either. Dressed in a shabby suit and tie, with a scraggly toupee and thick glasses, he looked more like a dyspeptic English teacher.

In fact, he looked very familiar.

"Roger?" Hayley tried to ask through her gag.

Yes, it was Roger the alien, in yet another one of his disguises. He glanced around, but the minions were busy with their mobile devices, even the driver. Roger leaned forward. "Surprised, Francine?"

Hayley shook her head, attempting to explain she wasn't Francine.

"I grabbed a few guys with high ideals and low IQs. We're fighting for, well, we haven't decided what, not yet. This whole Mike Jones persona is really an excuse to cause mayhem while being able to sound noble about it. Just don't let them know, because they really believe they're fighting for a cause. Anyhow, things were going great until Stan started making a pest of himself. So, I decided we'll hang onto you for a bit, tell him to cool things or the wifey gets it."

Roger squeaked and ran a finger across his throat for emphasis.

The van turned a corner. Hayley wondered if Roger would remove her gag when they got wherever they were going. She could explain she wasn't Francine then, but should she? Would that make her situation better or worse?

And where was this hideout? An abandoned warehouse? A deep cave? An office atop the tallest skyscraper in Langley Falls? An uncharted island in the Atlantic Ocean? A crumbling antebellum plantation mansion nestled among the magnolias in the lonely Virginia countryside?

She didn't have long to wonder. The van stopped after a surprisingly short drive. Hayley was carried up a staircase on the outside of a building and dumped into a chair.

Hayley decided it was time to tell Roger the truth, that she wasn't really Francine, but unfortunately, the gag stayed on.

"Welcome to Mike Jones's Lair," Roger said theatrically. "Let's get you comfy, Francine. You're going to be here a while…."

…..

Stan Smith threw his briefcase onto the couch. "Francine, I'm home!"

There was no answer, except from his son-in-law. "Hi, Mister S!"

"Oh, it's you," Stan said, giving Jeff the sort of unwelcoming look a chicken farmer might give a hungry fox. "Have you seen Francine?"

"She went out for a breath of fresh air this morning. Haven't seen her since."

"Let's see if she left a message." Stan checked his cell phone. "Good God! There's a text from domestic terrorist Mike Jones! He says he's holding my wife hostage and will do away with her if I don't stop hunting him! I've got to find her!"

"I'll help you look," Jeff offered. "Let me grab my jacket."

"Your jacket's in the hall closet, not the pantry!" Stan shouted as Jeff darted into the kitchen and opened the pantry door.

"Mpfff!" Francine said as she tumbled out.

"Whoa, Missus S, what are you doing in there?" Jeff asked. "I thought that cosmetic terrorist had grabbed you."

"He must have hidden her in my own house, the one place I'd never think to look," Stan said as he untied Francine. "How fiendishly clever of him! Luckily his plan backfired!"

"Are you okay, Missus S?" Jeff asked.

"Just thirsty from having that cloth in my mouth for so long," Francine said. She started to pour herself a glass of water but then, thinking better of it, opened a jug of Chablis.

"But who tied you up?" Stan asked.

"I don't know. Someone who looked just like me and talked just like me. I guess the plan was to have her take my place in the house, but I don't know where she is now."

"We'll find her," Stan said. "You're safe now, that's what matters. Oh, another text. It's from Steve. He says, hahaha, this'll tickle you, it's about that girl he met, Jaydee…"

"Don't tell me the slasher got her!" Jeff asked. A loud thump came from upstairs. "What's that?"

"Probably mice," Stan said. "Better put out some traps."

"Oh, you don't have to. I called an exterminator earlier," Jeff said. "He should be here soon. Hey, is anyone up for a game of, wait a sec, about that slasher. Did he get Jaydee?"

"No, of course not, peabrain. Didn't I tell you this would tickle you? They found Jaydee, and just before they parted, she told Steve she'd love him forever."

Francine almost spilled her Chablis. "But my baby's too young for a serious girlfriend!"

Stan continued reading his text. "Then they dragged her back to the mental hospital. You see, she was the serial killer all along! She shouted that if Steve ever dated any other girl that she'd break out again and use her fingernails to slice her up like a pound of pastrami on a deli counter."

"Steve's not going to have much of a love life," Jeff observed.

"He doesn't need one," Francine said. "After all, 'A boy's best friend is his mother.'"

A louder thump came from upstairs.

"That's much too loud to be a mouse," Stan decided. "Someone's up there!"

"It's Jaydee!" Francine shrieked. "She's broken out already! She'll murder us all in our sleep. Stan, do something!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Francine," Stan said. "Jaydee specifically only threatened potential girlfriends for Steve. We're his family, so we're completely safe. Besides, she couldn't possibly have made it here this quickly. Who's there?" he called.

Thump… thump… thump!

"Mpfff!" Hayley, still bound and gagged, still looking exactly like her mother, hopped forward to the top of the stairs.

…..

The van had simply driven around the block and parked outside the back of the Smith house. Roger had carried Hayley up to his attic room and dumped her in a chair, looping more rope around her to hold her in place. He'd taken the boys out and then, growing tired of being Mike Jones, had dropped them off at the police station.

Hayley didn't know any of that, of course. Realizing she was alone, she fought against the ropes binding her to the chair. She eventually wiggled her way loose so she could stand. That still left the ropes surrounding her body, but she hadn't been able to find anything sharp lying out she could use to cut herself free. Not that it mattered. She'd get help downstairs.

If she could get downstairs, in those impossible shoes. She longed to kick them off, but when Roger had tied her ankles, he'd wound the rope under the soles, directly in front of the heels. No, the shoes were staying on.

Thump, thump, she jumped forward, gaining the attention of everyone below. Eventually, she made it to the top of the stairs.

…..

"The imposter!" Stan exclaimed. "Unless…." He looked at Francine. "Unless you're the imposter. Which is it?"

Hayley longed to explain. She looked expectantly at her husband, but Jeff looked away blankly. Realizing no one was coming to her help, she worked her way down, one step at a time.

"I've got it!" Stan exclaimed. "Francine, what would you say if I told you I was hot on the trail of domestic terrorist, Mike Jones?"

Francine took a deep swig of Chablis. "I'd say, you go get him!"

"Correct answer," Stan said, "although you could have been studying up on what you should say. Hmm. Maybe I'd better ask the other one a question too, something only the real Francine would know. Let's get this gag off."

"Yes!" Hayley thought. The instant she could speak, she'd blurt out the truth and put an end to her ordeal.

Stan reached for one of the long ends of the bandana that trailed from her face. Before he could pull it loose, the front door swung open. "Barney Pinkwater, exterminator," Roger announced. He was dressed in khaki, with a gas canister strapped to his back. "Heard you folks had a rodent infestation problem."

"Who called you?" Stan demanded, moving his hand away.

"No!" Hayley seethed. She twisted her head brushing the bandana end against Jeff's arm, trying to get his attention.

He brushed it away again. "I did," he explained. "Don't you remember me telling you, Mister S?"

Stan shrugged his shoulders. "I probably wasn't paying you any attention. You know, like usual."

"Hey, Stan." Roger nudged him. "What's with the extra Francine? Have you been using the CIA's cloning machine again?"

"I've got it!" Stan shouted. He pointed a finger at Hayley. "You're the imposter. You probably tied yourself up, so I'd rescue you, hoping to distract me so I wouldn't realize you were a fake. However, you made one mistake."

"Oh, yeah? What's that?" Roger asked, helping himself to Francine's Chablis.

"Her shoes," Stan said. "Look at those stratospheric heels. She's obviously put them on to make herself appear taller."

"Nothing gets past my Stan," Francine mumbled, opening a jug of Chardonnay.

Stan said, "I'll take this imposter down to CIA headquarters tomorrow so we can pump her for information. But what to do with her until then?"

"Put her in the pantry," Francine said. "I can tell you from personal experience it's a super place to keep someone tied up in."

"Great idea." Stan shoved Hayley into the pantry and jammed a chair against the door. "Now, let's see, I've got the strangest feeling there's something missing. Or somebody. Where's Hayley?"

"MPFFF!" Hayley screamed from inside the closet.

"Oh, she'll be home late," Jeff said. "She's at a protest."

"Where did I go wrong with her?" Stan asked with a sigh.

"You did a great job raising your daughter, Mister S," Jeff said. "Now, while we wait for her, what does everyone say to a game of Mousetrap?"


End file.
